Chapter 6

Huddled deep in the prickly brambles, Forrest squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Whoever—or whatever—was out there, he didn't want to see it. Or it to see him. He wrapped his arms tighter around Lani's little body. She was shaking so hard. They were both shaking.

The only reason he wanted to hear it was so he knew where it was. So they could run if they had to.

Thankfully, his sister was quiet for once.She'd only just started speaking in full sentences, and some days Forrest wished she would go back to the babbling and pointing. But right now she must have sensed something was very wrong. The same way Forrest did.

He'd been playing outside, building a house for the fairies that lived in the trees. Not that Forrest had ever seen a real castle, but he'd read about them and it seemed to him that fairies might like a castle just for them, one made of bark, moss, twigs, and other things he found in the woods.

Dina, their mother, told them that the forest was full of fairies and he and Lani needed to be nice to them because they were magical. "If you do something bad, the fairies will take you in the middle of the night, and we'll never see you again." Her lips curved into a cold smile that Forrest had learned not to trust.

Maybe building them the castle would keep both Forrest and Lani safe from the fairies. Dina'd tried to scare him with Native American stories about Raven, Coyote, and Beaver, too. But those stories didn't scare Forrest, not that he told Dina. He liked how clever they were at outwitting their enemies.

There was more than one voice out in the dark tonight, he thought. Forrest couldn't tell who was talking. Was their mother out there too? Where had Papa gone?Why had Papa made Forrest come to this spot with Lani? Why had Papa told him to keep Lani quiet, to stay until someone came for him?

Then the screaming started and it wouldn't stop.He needed it to stop. In desperation, he put his hands over his ears. Lani wrapped her thin arms around his neck, pressing against him. Forrest was going to be strong for Lani. Whatever was out there would have to come through him first.

Forrest was just about to shatter into a million pieces when the screams abruptly stopped. It seemed like hours passed, although Forrest had no idea of the time. Even when the sun began to rise, he stayed because Papa had told him to. Then, somewhere off in the distance, he heard the sound of footsteps. They were coming closer.

Forrest bolted upright,the blanket slipping down and pooling around his waist. That had been the worst dream in a while.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispered into the early-morning gloom of his bedroom. He glanced around, noting the antique dresser that had been his grandfather's, the closed closet doors, the cheap lamp on his bedside table. They were all where they belonged, reassuring him that he was a forty-three-year-old man, not the seven-year-old who lurked in his dreams. Nightmares.

It's fine,he told himself, just a dream. Go back to sleep.

For years, the dreams had been less and less frequent, less disturbing. But ever since Nick and Martin had discovered more fucking bones up on the mountainside in January, the dreams had returned with a vengeance.

He always woke up when the screaming ceased— for which he was thankful. After all the time that had passed, he was still never certain who was doing the screaming. Him? Dina? Lani? Witt? Or had it been someone else, someone Forrest hadn't known about? The shrill sound echoed in his memory, chased him across the decades.

Terrified him.

Maybe it had been his father screaming, he didn't know. But he also didn't remember Witt Cooper much at all. Witt was a shadow to Forrest, a ghost. His father had almost always been away, outside, working on something. Forrest couldn't even be sure when the last time was that he'd seen Witt.

And he'd tried his best to remember.

Forrest's next memory was of waking up in a warm, sunlit, unfamiliar room, curled up under heavy blankets with his sister. A man who sounded like Papa sat near the bed reading a story aloud. When Forrest finally risked opening his eyes, the man, who also looked a lot like Papa, had explained that he was their grandfather and they would be living with him from now on. When Forrest asked him if Papa would come too, Grandpa had shaken his head, sadly saying, "I don't think so, son."

What Forrest knew about his father came from his grandfather's stories, the ones he told Forrest and Lani about Witt as a boy, as well as the few photographs that had been saved over the years. If Forrest had been unsure whether Witt was actually his father, the photos proved it beyond a doubt. Both he and Lani took after him and their grandfather.

Rolling on to his side, he pounded a fist into the down pillow to make it more comfortable, more sleep-able. But it was too little too late; he was fully awake and there was nothing to do but get his ass out of bed.

"Motherfucker."

The only time Forrest was a morning person was if he stayed up all night. He flopped back down, wondering if maybe just this one time he'd be able to fall back asleep. Minutes later, watery daylight slipped through the gap in the bedroom curtains and crept across his face, directly into his eyes.

"Give me a break. Fucking sunshine now?"

Why couldn't he ease into consciousness, have a nice espresso waiting for him on his bedside table, and just start the day? Instead of feeling like he'd gone nine rounds with a boxing champion in his sleep.

"Because you can't, that's why. Get over it."

Stumbling into his kitchen, Forrest started the coffee pot, then stood at the counter and stared outside while it gurgled and hissed. The floor was chilly—he probably should have put socks on. But he hated the feeling of socks against his skin and generally waited until his feet were blocks of ice before giving in.

His cell phone vibrated from its spot on the kitchen table. Forrest glared at it before shuffling that direction. The screen declared Unknown Caller.

"Fuck that."

He wasn't going to answer the call at first, but then changed his mind.

Snatching up the phone, he pressed Accept.

"What?" he demanded.

There was no reply.

"Is this a prank call?"

Was there no one on the other end of the line? Forrest thought he heard an intake of breath.

"Well? Hurry up, I haven't got all fucking day."

He did have all day since he was self-employed. And it was, the stove clock informed him, almost nine in the morning now. And not yet late March. He had another month before he'd be out mucking in the fields.

"Er—"

Forrest's thumb jammed against the red telephone icon. There was something satisfying about hanging up on a cold call first thing in the morning. If it was important, they'd call back.

He lingered in the kitchen another few minutes, waiting for the coffee machine to finish, then poured himself an extra-large cup—black like his redheaded soul. As much as he wanted to sink onto his couch and stare at the ceiling, he did have work to catch up on, vendors to call, and general shit he tended to ignore over the winter months. The pile of mail on his desk was getting out of hand.

But after stepping through his office doorway, his mug gripped in one hand, Forrest halted so quickly that a splash of hot coffee sloshed over the rim and landed on his fingers.

"Fuck." Changing hands, he wiped the hot coffee off on his jeans.

The light on his ancient answering machine was blinking red-red-red in a foreboding rhythm. A deep sense of unease flooded through him, and his heart thumped loudly. No one ever called the landline.

It was a joke between his sister and him that he still had the damn thing, inherited from their long-dead grandfather. The fact that it still functioned had been in question—that was how long it had been since someone had left a message on it.

All of his friends—and Lani, of course—knew to call or preferably text his cell number. Even with the crappy cell service in the area, he'd get a message eventually.

The mix of dread and irritation flooding his system peaked. He should be immune to the feeling by now. Maybe that was just the caffeine taking effect. Had something happened to Lani? He couldn't bear it.

No, he told himself. Chief Dear wouldn't just leave a message. But of course Forrest's brain jumped to the worst possible scenario.

Moving closer to the desk, his hand shaking slightly, he reached out and pressed his finger against the Play button. After a series of clicks and raspy squeaks, a monotone voice informed Forrest the message had been left a few days earlier. An unfamiliar, but not entirely unknown, voice began to speak.

"Hello, this is Nero Vik leaving a message for Forrest Cooper. I hope so, anyway. I hope this is Forrest Cooper's number and not some random other Forrest Cooper."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Forrest groaned. This would explain why Vik gave him the side-eye at the pub yesterday. He thought Forrest was ignoring his call. He was, just not until now.

He had no intention of talking to Vik about anything and contemplated just deleting the message. On the other hand, Nero Vik had a nice voice. Forrest just didn't plan on talking to him. It wouldn't be weird if he played this over and over, right?

"Anyway, I think you know I'm an investigative reporter—well, ex-reporter—but you don't care about that. I'm working on a podcast about Cooper Springs. It's a long story but while I'm in town, I'm hoping to interview people regarding some teenagers who went missing in the late 1980s."

Vik cleared his throat before starting up again.

"Not that you had anything to do with missing girls. But when I research these, I like to talk to as many people as possible. The story's not only about the missing young women, but about Cooper Springs as well."

Vik paused again, or maybe Forrest couldn't hear him speaking over the pounding of his heart.

"I'm very interested in talking with you, hearing your take on Cooper Springs as a kid, and nowadays too. I'm setting up interviews with Rufus and Magnus Ferguson, Mayor Moore, and a few other folks who've been living in Cooper Springs for years to get a feel for things, fill in some blanks. Please give me a call back so we can set up a time."

He rattled off a phone number that Forrest again didn't bother writing down. If he wanted to talk to Vik, he knew where to find him. As soon as the message ended, his finger smashed against the Delete button.

Forrest absolutely would not be granting an interview. Without thinking about it—or rather, without thinking it through—Forrest pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. His fingers still shook as he punched in a message to his sister.

F: Did Nero Vik call you about an interview?

Lani didn't immediately answer. Which, fine, wasn't worrisome; she was a deputy with the Cooper Springs Police Department. Lani was also still recovering from a gunshot wound and since the department was short-staffed, she was busy as hell even though she was supposed to be deskbound.

F: I don't want you talking to him. Call me before you do.

… …

When Lani's response came, Forrest realized he'd miscalculated and groaned out loud.

L: I have better things to do than argue with you about who you think I should talk to.If he wants to ask me questions, I'll do my best to answer them.

Telling his sister what to do always worked out so well for him. Especially when she was overworked and generally stressed out.

Instead of dealing with the paperwork waiting for him, Forrest finished getting dressed—including socks—and headed out to his truck. He needed to get out of the house and away from the cobwebs of his dream and put some food in his stomach.

* * *

The pub wasn't quiteopen yet, but Magnus lived in the apartment above the bar and Rufus could almost always be found there too. Forrest wasn't above barging in so he could have some company. Rufus was the closest thing he had to a father these days, and Magnus relished the part of Irritating Older Brother. He banged on the door several times, shivering as a particularly strong gust of wind blew.

Several just a damn minutes, thumps, bumps, and rattles later, the door opened to reveal a disheveled but awake Magnus Ferguson.

"Ah," Magnus said, eyeing Forrest, "had a nightmare, did ya?"

That Magnus knew about Forrest's nightmares was both good—he didn't have to explain anything—and bad. Magnus thought Forrest should talk to a professional, as in a therapist. That wasn't happening. Forrest talked to as few people in town as possible and he'd known them for most of his life. He wasn't about to spill his guts to some stranger.

"Yes, and I don't want to talk about it. Can I talk you into something to eat?"

Magnus rolled his eyes but opened the door wide so Forrest could slip inside.

"Of course, you're always welcome in our house."

Forrest was unsurprised to find Rufus sitting at the end of the bar. Since selling the Steam Donkey to Magnus, Rufus had bought his own small house and was currently "stepping out" with Wanda Stone, but he still could be found in the pub on a regular basis. Especially when it was too rainy or cold to be up in the woods.

"Morning, Rufus," Forrest said as he crossed to the bar and claimed the spot next to older man. "How's it going?"

"It's closer to noon, but whatever floats your boat, Forrest."

Rufus knew about his nightmares too. By the time he'd died, Ernst Cooper hadn't had a lot of friends, but Rufus Ferguson had been one of them. Ned Barker and his ex-brother-in-law, Oliver Cox, had been the others. Rufus, Ned, and Oliver had often come over to shoot the shit, and they'd eventually let Forrest hang around with them too.

"Brain's working overtime, I guess. Same dream, just a few tweaks. Woke me right up." Sweating and ready to crawl into a closet. "I got a message from Vik. How did he get the landline number?" Forrest suspected Magnus was the culprit, thinking he knew what was best for Forrest. "Like I told you, I don't trust him and I'm not going to talk to him."

"Methinks the man doth protest too much," Magnus intoned in a hideous, supposedly English accent. However, it wasn't an admission that he was the one who gave Forrest's home number out.

"Protest what?" Forrest demanded, knowing full well what he was protesting.

"I'm no expert on affairs of the heart, Forrest, but he's had his eye on you almost as much as you've had yours on him. Not in a creepy way." Magnus waggled his head back and forth. "More of an interested way. No harm in him having a way to get a hold of you."

"He has not had his eye on me." Forrest scoffed. "And anyway, do I need to repeat that I don't trust him? Why would I want him to have my number?"

Rufus snorted. "We both saw you watching him the other day when you thought no one was paying attention. Forrest Ernst Cooper," Rufus said with the slightest smirk, "I've never known you to back down from a dare in your life. Now"—he jabbed a thick finger Forrest's direction—"I dare you to face down your past and acknowledge whatever the hell is sparking off the two of you. Let yourself live a little and find out—something good might happen."

"Something bad might happen."

Dammit. Fucking Rufus Ferguson had fucking dared him. Being dared was like catnip. He and Xavier had dared each other so many times as kids that they'd spent more time in the principal's office than out of it. Forrest always had to prove he wasn't afraid of anything. And Rufus knew it.

"I'm not responding to that."

The thing was, doing the scary thing didn't mean he wasn't afraid of it.

Rufus snorted—again.

"You're both assholes," Forrest said without heat. "I came in here for some food and advice, and you're taunting me about fucking Vik instead."

"This is advice, Grasshopper. Exactly about fucking Vik. Whatever it takes, I say. I remember your grandpa used to dare you to do stuff all the time," Rufus said, chuckling while he did so. "Sometimes it was the only way he could get you to listen to him or do something he wanted you to do. Oliver always said you were worse than Ned."

"Seriously?" Forrest let himself think about his grandpa for a minute. "On second thought, that doesn't surprise me. I still miss the old man, but he could be sneaky. I wonder what he'd make of the mansion burning down now, too. Can almost hear him." Forrest dropped his voice even lower, to the register he always remembered as distinctly Ernst Cooper's sound. "Fuckin' A, Rufus. What the hell is this town coming to?"

The last was mostly rhetorical. Mostly. Something funky had been set in motion and Forrest thought it stemmed from the discovery of the remains. He'd sensed something in the past four months, a growing menace he couldn't explain.

"We all miss your grandpa." Rufus turned in his seat to face Forrest fully, his expression serious. "So, grab the bull by the horns, boy, and don't let something that could be good pass you by."

"Did Wanda give you one of those inspirational calendars or some shit?" Forrest faked a shudder. "Maybe I'm just better off single."

"So, you're afraid of taking a chance? Is that it?" Rufus shook his head again. "I expect better of you, Forrest Cooper. You need to live, not hole up in Ernst's old house talking to ghosts."

Rufus was fucking daring him again? Forrest resisted the urge to argue. Arguing would only make Rufus feel he was right about both Vik and talking to ghosts. Rufus wasn't right.

And Forrest would prove it.